Legacy of Honor

by Renae Brumbaugh Green

  “Riley. Come in here, boy. Donnigan was just telling me he heard some interesting news about you in town this evening.” Dad took another puff of his cigar.

  Riley looked at his brother. “Really? What kind of news?”

  Donnigan leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at his feet a minute before meeting Riley’s eyes. “I was sittin’ there at the saloon, mindin’ my own business, when a group of young men started a game of cards. One of ‘em had a little too much to drink, and started talkin’ real loud. He had some pretty interesting things to say.”

  The work crew. Blood turned to ice in Riley’s veins, and he couldn’t breathe. Dad wouldn’t take this news well under the best of circumstances. If he’d found out through some drunk worker... Riley’s mind couldn’t even process the ramifications. He dropped into the chair next to Donnigan. “Keep talking.”

  Dad took over the conversation. “Is it true, Riley? You’ve gone into the hotel business with Charlie Monroe?”

  Riley sat in silence for a moment that reached into eternity. He had no idea how to answer his father, other than the truth. “Yes, sir. It is.”

  Another long, still moment dragged before him. The heaviness in the room felt like it would crush his heart...the same heart that had felt so light less than ten minutes ago.

  At last, Dad looked at Donnigan. “Leave us.”

  Without a word, Donnigan stood, gave Riley an I’m sorry look, and left Riley alone with his father, closing the door behind him.

  “Why?” Dad’s words were stone cold to match his eyes.

  Riley squirmed under the glowering inspection. “Remember when Mayor Bridges came to dinner a few weeks ago? He talked about making Lampasas a tourist town. I became interested, and one thing led to another, and—”

  “I don’t care about that. Why would you join forces with Charlie Monroe, of all people? After all that man’s done to us. You’re gonna help him make money off of land that should be ours?”

  “What has he done? What has he ever done to you, or anyone in this family? He bought his land, fair and square, and you’ve let a grudge grow into a mountain of hate that’s consumed you for decades. We have more money and more land than anyone in this county, yet you can’t let go of the fact that you didn’t get something you wanted. You didn’t win, and that’s eaten you up inside.” Riley couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Yet once they started spilling, he couldn’t force them back into his thoughts where they belonged.

  The skin around Dad’s mouth went white, and his whole body shook. He didn’t say anything, and Riley feared he’d have a heart attack. But after another slaughtering silence, Dad looked at the pipe in his hands. “Get out,” he muttered.

  Riley stood. Looked at his father. Watched his eyes move past anger into cold, hard hate. It was the same expression he’d held every time he mentioned Charlie Monroe, only this look, this hatred, somehow went deeper. “Dad…”

  Dad didn’t move. His eyes grew in rage, past hatred to seething to something akin to murder. “You are not my son.”

  “Let me explain—.”

  “I said get out. I never want to see your sorry face again.” Dad’s voice was tight and strained, as if one more ounce of pressure would bring the snap.

  Riley swallowed back the crack that split his heart, the sob that pushed up his throat. He wanted to say something. Wanted to fix this. Not your son? Don’t say that. Dad. “I’ll need time to pack. I’ll be out before sunup.” He turned, left the room, and headed upstairs.

  After a couple of hours, Riley went to bed certain he’d get no sleep at all. But the added manual labor of the last couple of days must have taken their toll, for when he awoke to someone pounding on his door, he couldn’t remember where he was, and it took him a moment to orient himself enough to get up and open the door.

  It was Colt. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Riley held open the door, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and stumbled back to the bed. “What do you mean, what’s going on?”

  “Allison just woke me up, all in a tither, saying there’s been some big argument. She said I have to stop them. She’s not making any sense, and I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

  As if on cue, Allison showed up in the doorway. “I heard them. They’re making plans, and you have to stop them.”

  “What are you talking about, Allison?”

  She took several deep breaths, her hand to her chest. “Davis woke up. He’s teething. I went downstairs to find a biscuit. The study door was cracked open, and, and I heard them.”

  “Who?” Riley tried to make sense of her words.

  “Your father and Donnigan. They said something about you and Charlie Monroe. It didn’t make sense. Your father—he said he’d burn something to the ground. I hid behind the stairs when your father stormed out. Donnigan tried to stop him, told him to wait. Then they both left. Something terrible is going to happen. You have to do something!”

  Burn something to the ground? The hotel. Riley yanked his dungarees off the hook and pulled them on, slammed his feet into his boots, and grabbed a shirt, which he buttoned—crookedly—on his way down the stairs. He didn’t even bother saddling Medina, just jumped on bareback and rode her hard and fast all the way to the Monroe’s place.

  Emma awoke to the sensation that something wasn’t right. Everything was quiet...dark...what was happening?

  What was that smell?

  Her eyes burned. Was that smoke?

  In a flash, she went from groggy to wide-awake. Something was burning. She threw on her dressing gown and slippers and rushed into the hall, opening doors. Pa was fine, sleeping in his bed. Lyndel—the same. The kitchen and parlor looked normal, except for that haze. She darted to the front window, and there, at the building project, was an orange glow.

  “Pa!” she yelled, running back down the hall. “Pa, there’s a fire! I think it’s the hotel.”

  Pa sat up in bed, then nearly tripped on his way to the front window. She steadied him on one side, and suddenly Lyndel was there too, holding his other arm. They all three looked through the picture window at the sickly glow lighting up the night sky.

  Despite his weakened state, Pa took charge. “Lyndel, saddle Sugar and ride into town. Get the sheriff and tell him there’s a fire. Ring the emergency bell if you have to. Bring as many men as you can back with you.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Emma, start gathering buckets, pots, pans, anything you can find to haul water. Put them in my wagon. I’ll hitch the horses.”

  The three of them sprang into action. But by the time Emma and Pa topped the rise and the hotel site came into view, they knew all was lost. The flames were out of control.

  Still, Emma couldn’t sit there and watch. Maybe she could stop the fire from spreading onto the grass around the structure. She grabbed two buckets, ran to the nearby spring and filled them, then rushed to the side of the building and tossed the liquid into the grass beside the flame. A blanket of smoke tried to smother her. The heat seemed to evaporate the liquid before it even landed. As Emma turned to refill the buckets, she heard something... Something human.

  Dear God! Please, let me be wrong. Please, God. She gathered her skirts and circled the perimeter of the fire, trying to get a better view. Smoke clawed at her throat, stung her eyes. There.

  She spotted two figures in the flames. One was lying on his back, the other crouched over him. “Get out!” she yelled, but it looked like the kneeling man was trying to drag the other one to safety. Should she go in?

  Another sound drew her attention—horses’ hooves. Thank God help had arrived. As the riders approached the flames, the flickering light revealed their identities—it was Colt and Riley.

  “There are two men in there!” Emma yelled above the roar. Her throat raw from smoke, she could barely choke the words out.

  Colt grabbed a couple of blankets from under his horse’s saddle and soaked them in the springs. He gave Riley one, and the t
wo covered themselves before running into the blaze.

  God, no! Please don’t let them die. Please don’t let Riley die.

  A loud crack sounded, and a high beam crashed somewhere inside the flames. Emma fell to her knees, sobbing, screaming a silent prayer, for her voice was no more, another victim of the lapping inferno.

  Seconds before the structure collapsed on itself, Colt and Riley emerged, each one dragging a body. Emma lunged at Riley, hugging him, sobbing, then helped soothe the groaning man who now laid a safe distance from the roaring beast.

  It was Donnigan. Groaning and uttering words Emma couldn’t make out. Nearby, Colt knelt over the other figure, weeping like she’d never seen a grown man weep. The other man was dead.

  The other man was John Stratton.

  Riley watched all his dreams collapse in the flames. With it, a part of his soul collapsed, as well. He felt empty. Hollow. Like this wasn’t really happening, and any moment he’d wake up in his bed and everything would be fine.

  But heat and smoke and reality slapped him, confirming he was wide awake. He cradled his brother’s head in his hands, trying desperately to understand the words he spoke.

  “I’m sorry,” Donnigan whispered. “Please”—he gasped for air—“forgive me.”

  “You’re forgiven. Just don’t die.” Riley spoke the words around the blade of terror that reached up through his gut, into his voice.

  “I didn’t mean to. I tried to stop...him.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “He got caught—something fell on me.”

  “It’s going to be all right. Just hang in there.”

  “Please...take care of Skye. Tell her I love her.”

  “Tell her yourself.” A sob rose up in Riley’s throat.

  His words were too late. Donnigan’s head went limp in Riley’s hands. He felt the life leave his brother, and in that instant, Riley relived every sweet moment they’d shared.

  Stick ball in the yard.

  Hunting trips.

  Fishing—Donnigan had taught him to bait a hook.

  He couldn’t be gone. God! Where are you?

  Something in Riley shifted, and he moved into a haze that had nothing to do with the smoke. He laid his brother on the grass and went to Colt. Was Dad okay? Colt knelt over him, letting out a gut-yanking cry, and Riley collapsed next to him.

  Oh, God. This is my fault. I thought I was doing what You wanted me to.

  Riley wanted to vomit.

  To scream. To beat the sky. Instead, he sat there, limp. A puppet with no strings.

  No soul. No life.

  Something inside him died, along with Dad and Donnigan. Two of the most important men in his life.

  Guilt. Shame. Rage.

  Men came, though where they came from, he didn’t know. They were men from town, but he didn’t look at the faces. He just watched the flames that took his father and brother.

  Flames he had caused.

  Deaths he had caused.

  He looked up and there was Emma, standing over him, her face contorted, tears streaking ash-black cheeks. She tried to speak to him, but no sound came. After a moment, she leaned near him, and he could barely make out her words.

  “Where’s Skye?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. Where was Skye?

  She lifted her skirts and ran away.

  He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Was his heart even beating? He wasn’t sure.

  With every strike of Sugar’s hooves on the ground, Emma’s heart pounded a terrified rhythm. Her mind chanted one word with every beat—a prayer.

  Skye.

  It was as if Sugar knew, as if the animal felt the same ache to see the child for herself, to make sure she was all right. Sugar flew through the dark, nothing more than moonlight as a guide, and didn’t even slow down at the Stratton’s home. She just kept right on going until they reached the little clearing in the woods that led to the cabin.

  Emma jumped off the horse and ran to the door. “Skye!” she called, forcing sound where a short time before, no sound would come. “Skye, are you here?”

  She opened the door, calling for the child, her voice raspy and weak, her throat singed and dry. “It’s me, Emma. Are you here?”

  The dim light of a kerosene lantern lit up one corner. Skye sat up from her pallet and rubbed her eyes. “Emma?”

  Emma rushed to the girl and held her, working hard to contain her emotion lest she frighten the child.

  “What are you doing here?” Skye asked. “Where’s my pa?”

  Oh, dear God. Thank you. She’s all right. What do I tell her? What do I say to her? It wasn’t her place to reveal the news about her father’s death. Give me words, Lord.

  “Your...your father is at my house. So is your Uncle Riley. I’m here to take you to them.”

  “At your house?”

  “Well, near my house. Come now. Would you like to stay the night with me again? Get Rilene. And maybe a dress for tomorrow.”

  Skye squealed in excitement, and Emma’s heart nearly crumbled. Soon, the two were headed back through the moonlight, slower this time, toward home. Emma’s home. And if she had anything to say about it, Skye’s home from now on. Not that she had any right to the child. But she would certainly offer to take her. Care for her. Love her with a mother’s love for as long as Emma had breath.

  Men moved all around Riley, shouting orders, filling buckets with water and dousing the flames. He was vaguely aware of Dr. Hutchins’ voice, had a hazy recollection of the doc shaking his head over Donnigan and Dad, pronouncing them both dead. Vaguely aware of Sheriff Burnett asking him questions. He answered, but he honestly couldn’t remember what he said. He thought he’d relayed his last conversation with Donnigan.

  This was my fault.

  Someone sat on the ground beside him, put a big hand on his back. Held a cup of water in front of his face. Riley shook his head no, but then he heard Charlie Monroe’s voice. “Drink it, son. You’ve taken in a lot of smoke.”

  Riley took the cup, more because he didn’t have the energy to argue than any other reason. He gulped it and tossed the cup on the ground.

  “I’m sorry, son. Truly, I am.”

  How could Charlie Monroe be sorry for the deaths of two men who’d just vandalized his property? Yet Riley knew the man was sincere.

  “This is my fault. I should have never gotten you involved…”

  “Now, son, this is no more your fault than it is Emma’s, or Lyndel’s, or anybody else here for that matter. You didn’t set this fire.”

  “I went against my father’s wishes. I did something I knew would make him angry.” He covered his face with his hands, tried to push back the tears, but they wouldn’t stop coming.

  Charlie reached his arm around Riley’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Hush. It’s gonna be all right.”

  Riley wanted to believe him. But right now, he wasn’t sure anything would ever be all right again.

  Somewhere behind him, Riley heard a man’s sobs and knew it was Colt. Riley pushed to his knees and crawled over to his one remaining blood relative and wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders. Together, without caring a whit about what anybody around them thought, the two brothers sobbed like a couple of babies.

  How long they stayed that way, Riley couldn’t judge. But after a time, Reverend Jones was there, praying with them, asking if they needed anything.

  Sheriff Burnett approached. “Can I talk with you both in private?”

  The preacher left them.

  “Best I can tell, your father got his foot stuck in a gap in the sub floor. The injuries to his ankle and scrapes on his boot match a broken spot in the floor. It seems like Donnigan tried to pull him out, and a beam fell on them both. It probably killed your father instantly. Do you have any idea why they may have been here, or what they were doing?”

  Why were they here? What were they doing?

  Colt answered for him. “Probably out for a moonlight ride. The
y did that sometimes. Saw the flames, and tried to put out the fire.”

  What? Dad and Donnigan didn’t go for moonlight rides. That was a lie. But in that moment, Riley couldn’t find the words, or the energy, to contradict his brother.

  Some men lifted Dad and Donnigan and put them in the back of a wagon.

  “Wait!” Colt called. “I’m going with them.”

  There was Emma, standing off to one side. Skye leaned against her, pale as a field of new cotton.

  “Colt, wait,” Riley called. “I’m coming too. Give me a minute.”

  He forced himself to stand, to walk on wooden legs to where Emma and Skye stood. He knelt down to the child’s level, looked directly into her eyes. But for the life of him, he didn’t know what to say to her. What could he say? It’s my fault your father’s dead? It’s my fault you’re an orphan now?

  “Uncle Riley?” she stated his name like a question, as if she wanted him to fill in the answer to all this chaos. But he couldn’t. He didn’t have an answer that would make it all right.

  “Is my pa dead?” Her voice seemed so tiny.

  His lip quivered. Somehow, he had to answer her question. She deserved that much. “Yes, Sweetheart. He is.”

  She didn’t move. Nothing about her expression changed. But big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped to the ground in front of her. He held out his finger and caught one of the tears, wishing with all that was in him he could put it back, put them all back, reverse this day and make her world better again.

  Donnigan...he’d loved his daughter. Was turning a corner. Why?

  Riley hugged his niece tight. “You stay here with Emma, all right? She’ll take good care of you. I’ll be here in the morning.”

  Skye nodded, and Emma placed her hands on Skye’s shoulders.

  Riley couldn’t bring himself to look Emma in the eye. He kissed Skye on the cheek, stood, and walked away.

  He didn’t know if he’d be able to look Emma Monroe in the eye, ever again.